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Let's paint the sky scarlet
To cure everyone of their fever.
Safana Sep 14
Some breaking
point back,
I spy ya sauntering
as your locomotion
lost, standing upright
been arduous, your
forehead on your
palmar side, like your
eyes can't see
I am pulsing that
you are feeling
not the same,
it might be
a fever,

Wish you quick
She is not feeling fine, I wish you quick recovery
Lane O Aug 9
My path ahead, troubled;
through the blankets of snow, I plod.
I find myself in the wood,
boughs shrouded in fog.

The mist like a fever,
weighing down my soul.
I come to the fork in the road,
where I dither and brood.

Awake, yellow sun!
Cast your rays of light.
Rid me from this veil,
my peril, and plight.

Sweet mornings song,
notes carried through the wind.
My path now clear,
no struggle within.
Do you hear the muttering?
Foul and desperate falsities fencing through the air?
Do you hear them cluttering, in fickle clamor over futures in despair?
Certainly you hear them fluttering?
In a fervent dichotomy facing disrepair.
All I hear is fomented stuttering, Sowing division, in deleterious affair.
As I plant My Kisses,
on those Lips of Yours.
Passion keeps flowing,
from those Eyes of Yours.
I then slowly move,
these Hands of Mine.
To touch the Points,
of your Holy Shrine.
As My pace slowly Increases,
U get the Chills & Fever.
Sending Vibrant Signals,
to My Receiver.
Our Midnight Romance,
has a long haul Ahead
and Our Burning Desires
shall keep rocking Our Bed.
Sally A Bayan Apr 29
/\  /\  /\  /\  /\

There's a need for more space,
i feel a lack of fresh air...mostly
carbon dioxide permeates the
inner atmosphere...

grown faces, bodies, voices,
are seen in most corners of the
house, mingling with older ones,
trying to get by, in their own way...

there must be space for house help
sleeping over...i am human, a mix of
selfish, conscientious and unkind,
but it matters that tonight, all are safe,
what's good for the lot......prevails

when the death of each ECQ day is at hand,
when i'm satisfied that all are okay and safe,
i go to my room and concede to its persistent free some of my cramped thoughts...
i sit by the window with a lamp's glow, i part
the drapes...and let cool night air envelope me,
i take my time, drifting on blue waters of serenity
as daytime's cabin fever vanishes....temporarily...


©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 29, 2020
(ECQ- Enhanced Community Quarantine)
When I was a child
I had these strange febrile dreams.
In the blackness, globules
would form and float
and pulsate around the room.
And inside my addled brain,
they were terrifying, with their
whispered screams.
The sounds they made started
out low and small, and then
grew louder with every breath.
It was a horrid sound, like a
demented school teacher
scolding a blind student.
And I thought, in my
young feeble mind, that
angels were being tortured,
and that if I drifted off
to sleep, they would wake me with
their unearthly moans and
floating globules that would
grow and attack my brain.
It was as if they wanted
help, but they scared me.
So I fought to get well;
to make them disappear.
I don't have those sweat soaked
febrile dreams anymore;
but I still see the tortured angels...
under the bridge, down by the river.
Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...

Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?

Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion
N Mar 2
I’m feverishly lonesome,
and my wounded soul
is yearning for its doom

When I leave,
will the orchids in
my room still bloom?
Komm, Du (“Come, You”)
by Rainer Maria Rilke
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This was Rilke’s last poem, written ten days before his death. He died open-eyed in the arms of his doctor on December 29, 1926, in the Valmont Sanatorium, of leukemia and its complications. I had a friend who died of leukemia and he was burning up with fever in the end. I believe that is what Rilke was describing here: he was literally burning alive.

Come, you—the last one I acknowledge; return—
incurable pain searing this physical mesh.
As I burned in the spirit once, so now I burn
with you; meanwhile, you consume my flesh.

This wood that long resisted your embrace
now nourishes you; I surrender to your fury
as my gentleness mutates to hellish rage—
uncaged, wild, primal, mindless, outré.

Completely free, no longer future’s pawn,
I clambered up this crazy pyre of pain,
certain I’d never return—my heart’s reserves gone—
to become death’s nameless victim, purged by flame.

Now all I ever was must be denied.
I left my memories of my past elsewhere.
That life—my former life—remains outside.
Inside, I’m lost. Nobody knows me here.

English translation originally published by Better Than Starbucks

Original text:

Komm du

Komm du, du letzter, den ich anerkenne,
heilloser Schmerz im leiblichen Geweb:
wie ich im Geiste brannte, sieh, ich brenne
in dir; das Holz hat lange widerstrebt,
der Flamme, die du loderst, zuzustimmen,
nun aber nähr’ ich dich und brenn in dir.
Mein hiesig Mildsein wird in deinem Grimmen
ein Grimm der Hölle nicht von hier.
Ganz rein, ganz planlos frei von Zukunft stieg
ich auf des Leidens wirren Scheiterhaufen,
so sicher nirgend Künftiges zu kaufen
um dieses Herz, darin der Vorrat schwieg.
Bin ich es noch, der da unkenntlich brennt?
Erinnerungen reiß ich nicht herein.
O Leben, Leben: Draußensein.
Und ich in Lohe. Niemand der mich kennt.

Keywords/Tags: German, translation, Rilke, last poem, death, fever, burning, pyre, leukemia, pain, consumed, consummation, flesh, spirit, rage, pawn, free, purge, purged, inside, outside, lost, unknown, alienated, alienation
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